


Make Us Wiser

by orange_8_hands



Series: Biting Hands [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blindfolds, Breathing, Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash, LGBTQ Female Character, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Nipple Play, POV Female Character, Pansexual Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2013-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:54:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_8_hands/pseuds/orange_8_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's research, folders full of lore and folders on potential sperm donors mixing until Emma realizes Claire just needs to focus on something else for awhile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Us Wiser

**Author's Note:**

> **Note about the fic** : Please check out the tags for any triggers. This verse includes Josephine/Krissy/Claire/Emma, Josephine/Claire, and Krissy/Claire. Can be read as a stand alone. Always 8sword's fault. Once again title from the [remix](http://oranges8hands.tumblr.com/post/64107728409) of Harder Better Faster Stronger by Daft Punk/Radioactive by Imagine Dragons.
> 
>  **Note about the series** : Next up is another F/F/F/F to finish the series (because I like bookends); I'm open to suggestions of kinks (anon is fine too here or [at my tumblr](http://oranges8hands.tumblr.com/ask)) if there's something you'd like to see. I may also have a non-PWP planned for this verse.

  
When Emma asks, like a neon sign above her head saying please in flashing colors, Claire says yes before she can hesitate, before she can remember another yes and black eyes and _please Castiel, take me_.  
  
They move, first, because technically they both have clean records with the government and a lot of future hassle will be saved if they keep it that way. Actually, first they drag themselves to the courthouse, or Claire drags Emma, Amelia as their only witness for a ritual Claire spent most of her teen years convinced was unnecessary. The only thing Emma insisted on was smashing cake into Claire's face at the restaurant afterwards, and shrieked in laughter even as Claire got payback in the forming of ice cubes down her shirt.  
  
They paint the house over a matter of days, clinging to each other to stay upright as the work tour finishes in their bedroom ("If we started in the bedroom we could have slept in here tonight," Claire groaned, but Emma dragged her outside to the air mattress already blown up and pointed out stars until Claire fell asleep in self-defense), eggshell for the walls and yellow curtains to blow in the breeze from their bay window. They cover their bed with a new midnight blue comforter and Emma draws constellations in thin black lines with surprising accuracy onto their ceiling.  
  
And then it becomes research, folders full of lore and folders on potential sperm donors mixing until Claire, sitting cross-legged on their bed across from Emma, tries to make the argument that the piercer's application is a sign.  
  
"Of what?" Emma asks, bewildered.  
  
"To pick him.”  
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“Because of the Amazonian ritual of piercing one ear," Claire explains, face still buried in paperwork. "Hey this guy also does archery."  
  
"Right." Emma grabs the file over Claire's protests and starts to stack the rest of them up, slapping Claire's hand away when she makes another grab for it. "No, we're taking a break. There's no rush Claire, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, but -" she cuts herself off, makes herself meet Emma's eyes. When they had first met Claire thought Emma had the saddest eyes in the world, but now little laugh lines fan around them. They're warm, and bright, and have always felt somewhere between benediction and promise, like love would actually be enough to keep them together.  
  
(Emma's face no longer looked lost, was the real thing, like their life wasn't just a fragile grasp at fleeting grace, and Claire still didn't know how to do anything but hold onto it with the strength of desperation, greedy to keep it until it was snatched away from her.)   
  
Emma cups Claire's face between her hands, kind in a way that always makes Claire feel shy for her, like kindness was something to be hidden from even her eyesight. She leans her forehead over to rest on Claire's, takes long, deep breaths until Claire starts to repeat them, matching her lungs to Emma's, body falling into the same rhythm.    
  
"Can I bring you away?" Emma asks, breathe puffing out against Claire's lips, and Claire let her eyes close, whispers yes in the sudden stillness of their bedroom.  
  
Emma's hands slide down from framing her face to gently glide against the sides of her neck, across her shoulders and down her arms until they reach Claire's hands, curls her own hands around them and raises them into the air. Emma pulls Claire's shirt off and lowers Claire's arms back down to rest loosely in her lap. The quick press on her shoulders is a signal to stay and so Claire does, waiting for Emma and listening to the rustles as she gathers supplies. Her mind already feels like it's sinking, floating down where it could just stop and feel without worries.   
  
The smooth feel of silk covering her eyes is welcomed. Emma checks the knot, then guides Claire down onto the comforter, removing her boxers and spreading her body out. Emma attaches leather cuffs from Claire's wrists and ankles to the four corner-posts, checks them all before moving off the bed again.  
  
"Don't make me remind you again; keep breathing steady for as long as you can," she says, and Claire consciously slows it down again, a calming in and out, knows Emma won't start until Claire does so, until all she feels is the push and pull of her lungs, the way her heartbeat slows to match. It's like being cradled to sleep, except her body's too primed to make her tired.  
  
The first touch to Claire's skin is greedily accepted when Emma finally reaches out. It's soft, barely there, like nails just skimming the surface. The hand - two fingers, really - starts across her clavicle and curves down, tracing the edge of her breast, the underside, pauses for a few slow passes up and down her sternum before continuing down, past her belly and lifting off just before they reach the top of her pubic hairs, Claire's body trying to strain up and capture them back.  
  
There's silence but Claire knows the rules, goes back to slow breathing and her body flat on the comforter before the two fingers are back, making the same journey down her body on the other side, lifting off at the same point. She wants to chase those fingers, run them across every inch of her skin, but knows only one way to get them back, and manages to keep her body on the bed.  
  
In reward, Emma moves closer, kneeling by Claire's side but not touching her, and uses both hands, the same two maddening fingers along the same route, and Claire's skin feels like the first taste of champagne, the way the bubbles soak the experience until they're all that's remembered of it.   
  
Again and again, those two fingers on each hand, the same route like she's following lines, and Claire's control over her breathing gets harder each time, goosebumps having less of a chance from disappearing before the route starts over again and those fingers leave them in their wake. She's barely conscious of the rest of her body, of the room, just the glide of fingers, Emma's fingers drawing her deeper and deeper.  
  
Just as she's waiting for the next route of those clever fingers to start Claire feels a long stream of air blowing over her left nipple, and she shivers, her breathing gasping out before she can catch it. Emma switches back and forth between her nipples a few times, until suddenly there's a small pause and air is blowing against her heated clit. Claire's lower body bucks up like it just took a shot of adrenaline, trying to reach the pressure of mouth, of Emma's lips and tongue and something more than the maddeningly breeze, the barest promise of something just beyond her reach, and Claire's breathing technique is abandoned as the exhale seems to last for minutes.  
  
The fingernails seem even softer this next time, like they're skimming the air above her skin more than the skin itself, and it's the same path, the same meandering route across Claire's body, removing themselves before they can touch her clit, but they feel like fire now, like her blood is racing to follow them. She's wet and it just gets worse because it's the same set-up as before, the fingers over and over again as more suggestion than touch, the breath against her nipples, finally the long, slow blow against her clit. She wants to reach out, grab and add pressure to help push her over the edge, but she can't, her hands straining against the cuffs.  
  
The third round has her babbling, promises of whatever Emma wants if she'd just touch, somewhere, anywhere, cup her tits or flick her nipples, press her tongue against her clit or her finger or something. She wants the weight of Emma's body on hers, breasts being pushed against breasts and her skin completely submerged under Emma's. Wants to be surrounded, and instead it's back to the fingers, that barely there skimming that seems to know the bucks of her body well enough to keep them from ever doing more than the lightest graze. She hears words, dimly, but all her focus is on the fingers that disappear and it's just unfair, her skin gasping for contact, any contact at this point. Claire slams her head back into the pillow, arching her back as far as it will go but the fingers stay gone and it's just the blowing air against her nipples, not able to tighten any more but trying, and no matter how far Claire strains up she can't reach Emma's mouth, can't make her bend just a little closer and all she can think about is pressure, she needs just a little more pressure.  
  
"Emma," she's saying, been chanting this whole time, but it's only when the word breaks in two that Emma's suddenly got two fingers touching Claire's clit and before they can even start to rub Claire's convulsing, can feel her muscles tighten and release and the orgasm draws out of her with a scream.  
  
The air feels too sensitive, all of her skin trying to push into it and stop the shivers. Emma is careful as she finally removes the blindfold and releases Claire, uses deep touches to rub out Claire's arms and legs to avoid the way Claire's skin still feels like it's tingling to the ghost of touch.  
  
"Gonna have to gag you in the future," Emma mutters, finally sitting back.  
  
Claire curls up onto her side, presses a hand against her own clit as if the pressure is needed to keep it from throbbing. Emma seems to look at the cuffs knocked on to the floor, the bathroom where washcloths wait, and decides clean up can be dealt with in the morning. She crawls up to Claire, blankets her from behind and replaces Claire's hand with her own, feels Claire twitch in her hands. Claire can hear her deliberately slow her breathing and she follows suit, the steady rhythm getting rid of the urge for her skin to keep jumping. At some point Emma moves her up enough to swallow the last half of the glass of water on the nightstand, and Emma somehow seems closer when they flop back down, too exhausted to do anything else but go to bed for the night.   
  
"Seriously, a piercer?" Emma murmurs after awhile, and Claire knocks her head against Emma's, eyes already closed and mind more than halfway gone, this time towards sleep.  
  
"Shut up," she slurs.  
  
“Oh yeah, you told me, Claire.”  
  
  
  
  
In the morning, Emma gets halfway through brushing her teeth before she hears: “Hey, he's into astronomy too."


End file.
